


Funhouse

by PeachesPoison



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cutting, Dark, Depression, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pill popping, Public Sex, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachesPoison/pseuds/PeachesPoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tragedy strikes Les Amis, how will those who are left cope?  Enjolras has an especially difficult time dealing with survivors' guilt, and Grantaire somehow helps him through it as best he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“These are so good they should be illegal,” Courfeyrac mumbled through a mouthful of deep fried Oreo. He shoved the rest of it in his mouth and wiped the crumbs off of his chin. Across the hard metal table, Grantaire furtively dumped some of the contents of a flask into his drink. 

“I saw that,” Feuilly smirked. 

“How did you even get that in here?” asked Joly.

“You’ll never know,” teased Grantaire. His eyes were hidden under his black wayfarers, but the corners of his lips turned up into a smile before he slurped down as much of the liquid he could muster. Enjolras rolled his eyes and cuffed Grantaire on the head. 

“I do not want thrown out of this park because you can’t function without alcohol in your system,” he warned. A ripple of laughter went around the table of friends: Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Bahorel, Jehan, and Feuilly. Enjolras stood at the head of the table, leaning against it. Beside the rowdy group was a smaller table at which Joly and Bossuet sat sharing salt and vinegar fries from the Potato Patch. 

This motley crew was taking a study break from their junior year of college. They were one of those odd assortments of guys who had been randomly assigned a wing in the dorms and had become fast friends by the end of their first semester. Together they studied during the days, partied through the nights and bemoaned the fact that they had opted to spend their college years in the small city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Not far outside of Pittsburgh was a small amusement park—Kennywood. This is where Courfeyrac had insisted they take their last “broventure” before cramming for finals. 

So there they were. The May sun beat down on the boys and the sound of water from the nearby Raging Rapids was teasing them and making them painfully aware of how hot the metal benches were. 

“Let’s walk, or something, I can’t sit still any longer,” Combeferre said, standing up to stretch. Enjolras nodded in agreement, and the guys picked up their food for the walk. He was naturally their leader, but this was also his home turf. Enjolras was an only child who grew up not far from the park, and he spent many days there as a child and a teen. He could have walked the familiar paths blindfolded and his friends followed his lead here as they did pretty much everywhere else. 

“Noah’s Ark?” suggested Bahorel. Enjolras bristled at the suggestion. 

“No,” said Enjolras. He thought of the loosely described funhouse, where he never had any fun as a child, and actually he had many nightmares.

Grantaire, as if he knew, thrust his flask in Enjolras’ face. “Liquid courage for the chicken?”

“Shut up Grantaire,” the blonde blushed. “I just don’t see the point in waiting in line for two hours to walk through a decrepit and filthy old funhouse.” He smacked Grantaire’s hand out of his face.

“Whatever you say,” he smirked. 

The group had passed most of the day in this manner. They arrived at Kennywood as soon as it opened, and raced to the back of the park to make sure to get in line for the indoor roller coaster, The Exterminator, first. They’d been to the park a thousand times together and this time had been no different than any other, save the anticipation of classes being nearly over that was buzzing about them. 

Around sunset, Bossuet reminded everyone that they hadn’t been on one of the coasters yet—The Phantom’s Revenge. The modest steel coaster paled in comparison to many others, but it was the epitome of fun at the small amusement park. 

The group slowly made their way toward the purple and green coaster and took their place in line. As they stood together in line, they freaked out about finals and girls and everything else they could call to mind. 

After half an hour, Enjolras caught Grantaire with the flask again as he dumped some of whatever he was drinking (whiskey) into his lemonade (gross). “Seriously, could you throw that out? There are families all around us.”

“I didn’t realize I was forever corrupting the youth of Pittsburgh, Enjolras,” Grantaire said with a devilish smile.

Enjolras, fuming, grabbed the cheap silver flask from Grantaire’s hand and threw it into the metal trash chute behind him. 

“Asshole!” Grantaire shouted. 

“Please don’t cause a scene,” Combeferre pleaded, looking from Enjolras to Grantaire as if he was expecting a fight to break out. 

Grantaire, closer to drunk than sober at this point in the day, stuck his tongue out and turned away from the group to lean against the railing. Ten or fifteen minutes passed in this fashion, Grantaire pouting, Enjolras brooding and the rest pointedly ignoring them while cheerfully recalling the best moments of the day. 

When they finally stood on the platform, ready to board, they took great pains to make sure they were all on the same coaster. This practice got them more than a couple dirty looks and smart comments, but they generally didn’t care what others said about them. With their odd number, Courfeyrac ended up being paired with an insanely hot girl none of them had ever seen before, naturally. Enjolras ended up waiting for the next coaster with Grantaire, to his chagrin. 

As he impatiently tapped his foot on the floorboards of the platform, Grantaire decided to see how far he could push Enjolras, as per usual. He leaned over the railing separating them from the employees, and he clumsily swiped a hand at a girl’s uniform t-shirt. 

“Miss, can you come on the ride with me?”

She turned to stare at him. Olivia was the name printed neatly on her badge. “I don’t get paid enough to flirt with park visitors,” she snapped. 

Enjolras turned his steely gaze to Grantaire. 

Grantaire feigned horror. He opened his mouth to retort, and the girl narrowed her eyes. 

“Oh, actually, I think I get it,” she said incredulously. 

“Oh you do, babe?” Grantaire replied. 

“You’ve been drinking.” She stepped closer, so that she was just on the other side of the railing. “You positively stink like whiskey.”

“Do you like whiskey?” Grantaire asked her. “I did have some more but-“

She cut him off. “You’re done. Leave. Now.”

Enjolras cursed under his breath. Of course, he thought. He sighed and grabbed the green material of Grantaire’s t-shirt. “Come on,” he said. People were starting to stare, and Courfeyrac was laughing so hard that he was causing a scene himself, clutching onto Jehan for support. “We can go look at the pictures or something until they’re done,” he suggested. 

“Pictures?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras just stared at him. 

“The ones taken by the camera before the end of the ride…it’s a souvenir,” Enjolras spelled out impatiently. 

The pair meandered over to the photo booth. Enjolras fixed his gaze upon the ride photos, waiting for the ones his friends would make. Grantaire stood a few calculated feet away as they waited for their friends. Enjolras stood in the shadow of the booth, inspecting the silly faces the passengers of the coaster made. 

From just a few feet away, Grantaire stood leaning against the wooden railing. He blew a puff of smoke in Enjolras’ way. The blonde quickly noticed what Grantaire was holding. Even though he didn’t indulge in smoking, Enjolras could certainly recognize the smell of weed. “You can’t smoke in here!” he hissed. 

“I’ve never seen a sign posted against spliffs,” Grantaire explained. Enjolras groaned and looked as if he were about to start screaming. Suddenly, Grantaire gazed beyond Enjolras, off in the distance. 

“Are we at the movies?” he asked. 

Enjolras never swore. “Grantaire, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asked. 

“Well, I’m pretty fucking sure we are actually at the movies watching whatever ‘Final Destination’ movie just came out.”

Enjolras was about to ask Grantaire to further clarify his ramblings when a light flashed in Grantaire’s sunglasses (that he was wearing in near darkness) and Enjolras whipped around to observe.

Unfortunately, he would regret this moment for the rest of his life. The light was caused by the sparks of metal on metal—where it shouldn’t be. The train of the roller coaster, in some freak accident, had derailed. 

Grantaire spoke for every single person in the park at that moment. “What. The. Fuck,” he said. 

Enjolras smacked the spliff out of his hand.


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the survivors get ready for a viewing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who liked the first chapter! I'll probably get this story finished quickly but we still have a ways to go. After this chapter things are going to get darker...fair warning.

There isn’t much in this world sadder than the funeral of a 21 year old. It’s the age teens look forward to turning, when they will finally be recognized as adults in the full sense of the word. The funeral for someone struck down at the very precipice of life is a toxic event. The funeral for six such persons was nothing short of pure horror.

The university had helped the families of the students to arrange a viewing for the six victims together: Combeferre, Bahorel, Bossuet, Joly, Jehan and Feuilly. The girl who had been sitting beside Courfeyrac and her two little brothers she’d been babysitting were killed as well. The morning of the viewing, Grantaire vaguely wondered what their family was going through as he realized how his “family” had been through hell.

\----

Everything that happened after the accident was a blur. Grantaire had never, under any circumstances- not even getting arrested by campus police- seen Enjolras come anywhere close to crying. He was too stoic, too fierce to let such weakness show. But after smacking the cigarette from Grantaire’s hand, the punches continued.

Stunned, Grantaire felt pounding on his chest before he stopped each blow with his hands, wrapping them around Enjolras’ fists. Only then did he notice that the fearless leader was sobbing. He collapsed into Grantaire. Neither man could speak.

They had to stay at the park well into the morning. The usually eloquent Enjolras could barely speak. Grantaire, who sobered up pretty quickly given the circumstances, spoke to the police for both of them.

Olivia, the ride attendant who kicked them off the ride earlier, sought out Grantaire. A steady stream of tears ran down her face, and her eyes were so swollen from crying that Grantaire was surprised she had been able to find him. She didn’t speak, just pulled him in for a brief hug.

As she walked away, he said to Enjolras, “Maybe I should’ve thanked her for saving our lives.”

“I’d rather be dead,” Enjolras said bluntly.

“Don’t ever fucking say that again,” Grantaire warned. The two were about to get into a heated argument, but fortunately Marius and Cosette showed up.  


“We got here as fast as we could,” Cosette said. Her face showed signs of crying the same as Olivia’s had.

“Where is Eponine?” Grantaire asked.

“At the hospital to find Courfeyrac,” Marius said. “We’d better get going.”

Enjolras remained silent as the two newcomers ushered him and Grantaire out of the park before another police officer could stop to ask them to relive the story again.

For two days, they stayed at Cosette’s house with Marius. She didn’t live far from campus, and her father welcomed his daughter’s friends with open arms. Grantaire thought that the time passed agonizingly slowly as they tried to find some semblance of normalcy in their lives.

Three days after the accident, Enjolras received a call from Combeferre’s mother, who requested that he speak at a viewing for all of the young men together the next day. “Sure,” was his only reply.

He was different, thought Grantaire. The passion that had so clearly defined Enjolras for so long seemed to be snuffed out.

“We should probably go,” Grantaire said. “You know, get back to the apartments.” Enjolras nodded, and they returned to campus. After leaving the dorms at the end of freshman year, the group had found a big old house that was converted into apartments, and they split themselves into groups of two or three to fill the house.

Enjolras had snagged the only single apartment in the building, which suited him just fine. Grantaire lived with Courfeyrac, and he’d managed to avoid thinking about whether Courfeyrac was going to be coming back or not.

Now, as he readied himself for the viewing, Grantaire couldn’t stop replaying the events of those last few days in his mind. He surveyed himself in his mirror. His eyes were so tired and the bags under his eyes looked like bruises.

A soft knock came at his door. He strode across the room and opened the door to see Enjolras dressed in a similar black suit.

“Drink with me?” he asked.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I am not!” Enjolras insisted. He withdrew a hand from behind his back, where he was holding a fifth of some clear liquid with cinnamon sticks floating in it.

Grantaire stepped backwards, allowing Enjolras to enter. “What the hell is that?”

“A present from Eponine. She said her dad makes it.”

Grantaire took the bottle and unscrewed the lid, taking a whiff of the clear liquid. He smiled for the first time since that night from hell. “This, my friend, is what we call moonshine. Apple pie moonshine, to be precise.”

Enjolras furrowed his brow. “I’m pretty sure moonshine is illegal in Pennsylvania.”

“I’m pretty sure I need to be wasted to go to this shit, so pardon me for not caring,” Grantaire said as he put the bottle straight to his lips.

“How do you know I didn’t want any of that?” Enjolras murmured. He paced around the apartment, avoiding looking in the direction of Courfeyrac’s room.

Grantaire sat on his couch and took another sip. “Alcohol kills germs, right?” He held up the bottle for Enjolras.

“Thanks to you, we can’t exactly ask Joly, so I guess I’ll have to take the risk,” Enjolras snapped. He took three or four gulps before choking slightly.

“Thanks to me?” Grantaire retorted hotly. “Do we really need to go there right now?”

Enjolras shrugged.

“First of all, you’re being an even bigger dick than usual. Secondly, I fail to see how anything that happened is my fault. You’re the one who was too much of a chicken shit to go through Noah’s Ark,” Grantaire harshly said. Enjolras’ mouth dropped open in surprise. Grantaire had never spoken to him like this before. He continued, “We probably would have still been in line for the Ark when that accident happened. So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this is your fault.”

The tension in the room was nearly tangible.

“You really don’t fucking get it,” Enjolras said, before helping himself to more moonshine. “It’s your fault we aren’t dead. We deserved to die with the rest of them.”

Grantaire had never been so confused in his life. He snatched the bottle back from Enjolras’ grasp and drank before saying, “So in your quest to place the blame of a motherfucking freak accident on someone other than yourself, you’ve decided it’s worse to be alive with me than to be dead with our friends?”

“Sounds about right,” Enjolras bitterly hissed.

Grantaire, who had blindly followed Enjolras to meetings, clubs, protests, rallies, finally found a path down which he couldn’t follow his leader. “Fuck you,” he said quietly. “Let yourself out.” He slammed the half-empty bottle down on the coffee table in front of the couch. He stormed out of the apartment, wonder whether Enjolras gave a damn or not.


	3. The Viewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the survivors attend the viewing before the funerals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this was hard to write. I have a pretty clear vision of where this is going and I'm kidding myself if I think this is really only going to be seven chapters! I'm a little nervous, as typically Enjolras is responsible and Grantaire is the embarrassing drunk. I'm switching those roles completely in this story, while trying to keep them in character, and this is really hard! Please let me know how I'm doing!

Eponine sat, for as many hours in a row as the hospital staff would let her, at Courfeyrac’s bedside. She became tangled in this group in a strange way. She and Marius attended the same high school, and were dating when they started freshman year of college. It ended mutually, but it was still a little weird when Marius started dating Eponine’s roommate Cosette (whose father insisted she spend her freshman year in the dorms to “get the college experience”) a few months later. The girls managed to stay friends despite the weird history thing, and Marius’ peculiar assortment of friends ended up accepting both of them anyway.

So here she was, with Courfeyrac. Marius originally roomed with Courfeyrac, and Eponine knew Marius well enough to know that he couldn’t see him like this. Cosette sometimes came to keep Eponine company here, but it was hard for her, too. Eponine was the most…comfortable…with painful situations. 

It was awfully painful to see the typically animated Courfeyrac sprawled unnaturally on the harsh white linen of the hospital bed, the beeping of a machine the only indication that he was alive. If you wanted to consider being in a coma being alive. 

Eponine did not take the news of their friends particularly well. She was closest with Marius and Courfeyrac, but she was happy to know that at least Enjolras and Grantaire were unharmed…at least physically. She hadn’t seen either of them since the accident since she urged them not to come to the hospital. They wouldn’t want to see their once-dynamic friend looking like this. 

“You have a hell of a spirit, you better snap out of this soon,” she said to him. She liked to think that he could hear her. Eponine was wearing a black dress and tights with heels, all dressed up to go to the viewing. She had kicked her shoes off and was curled at the foot of the bed, mindlessly flicking through the limited TV stations the hospital had to offer.

She heard her phone buzz from her purse, and she sighed, supposing that she should probably head to the funeral home. It was Grantaire asking her to please hurry. Instead of the typical two viewings, the funeral home was just keeping one long viewing as a matter of convenience, and Eponine was not looking forward to the debacle. She assumed there would be hundreds of their fellow students there, people who barely knew her friends who had died, but who would show up just for the drama.

Certainly someone would get drunk and make a scene, she figured, probably some freshman who’d hooked up with one of the guys in a frat house her first weekend at school, looking for some pity. Unfortunately, Eponine could not have been further off about who would be causing the scene this time. 

As she arrived at the funeral home, she immediately spotted Grantaire standing outside, chain smoking (probably) a pack of Camels. “Look at you, all fancied up,” she teased. Grantaire handed her a cigarette and lit it for her. “Thanks.”

Without even waiting for her to ask, Grantaire offered, “Enjolras and I kind of had a fight. A kind of bad one.” He leaned against the brick wall, dragging a hand through his messy black hair.

Eponine leaned next to him. “I have a feeling Enjolras isn’t taking this well.” Grantaire shook his head. “Well, not that any of us really are. We’re all going to be pretty fucked up, probably forever. I just don’t think Enjolras has really had anything near this bad happen to him before.”

Enjolras was an only child to rich parents who spoiled him until he was old enough to realize how privileged he was. His extreme activist habits led to a somewhat strained relationship with them, but really he had a charmed life. He was dangerously handsome, and charismatic enough to make almost anyone believe every word he said. He was smart, and studious, and generally had his shit together. 

Which, Grantaire assumed, was why he was acting so unlike himself. “I guess I can understand that, but he’s actually blaming me for us not dying. He’s pissed off at me because I got us kicked off of the ride and denied him his chance at a glorious death.”

“To be fair, Enjolras probably thinks this accident is going to cause an overhaul of the amusement park industry and safety standards,” Eponine remarked. She put out her cigarette on the side of the building. “We should go inside.”

Grantaire followed suit. He wasn’t even drunk, as Enjolras had pissed him off so badly that he’d driven straight to the funeral home after leaving his apartment. “I just don’t understand why he’s taking it out on me. I’d do literally anything for him and he says he would rather be dead.”

“That’s pretty fucking harsh,” Eponine admitted. “But this reminds me of this quote thing I read. It was something about loving people when they’re really hard to love, because that’s when they need it most.”

Grantaire blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill over his eyes. They walked arm in arm into the funeral home’s viewing room. There were actually three rooms, usually separated by privacy screens, but the screens were taken down to make one large room holding six caskets and a macabre spread of pictures and memorials. He scanned the room for Enjolras, but he didn’t see the giveaway blonde locks anywhere.

The next hour passed in a blur. Eponine and Grantaire met up with Marius and Cosette, who also had not seen Enjolras. They briefly discussed Courfeyrac, and sorely missed his company. Eponine was kind of right, there were an absolute ton of people there she recognized from classes but who she had never seen studying with her friends at the café or drinking with them at their favorite bar.

She hugged her friends’ parents, cried at each of the caskets, and lovingly kissed the cold foreheads. Worst of all was Bahorel, whose forehead she couldn’t kiss. His casket was closed. Eponine knelt at his casket anyway, her tears falling faster as the echo of his distinctive laugh rang somewhere in her memory.

Seeing the young laid to eternal rest is among the most painful experiences in the world.

Finally, Enjolras walked into the funeral home. Stumbled, actually, would be a more appropriate word. “Oh fuck,” Grantaire whispered. Enjolras was clearly wasted, trashed, shitfaced, blitzed, bombed, blasted, bent…any combination of these applied to him. Eponine ran to him before Grantaire could.

“Alright, everyone, let’s have a toast!” Enjolras slurred as he made his way to the front of the room. Not everyone heard him, but those around him stared at him disapprovingly. 

“Enjolras!” hissed Eponine. She grabbed his arm, which he promptly wrenched from her grasp. “You idiot, you’re being really disrespectful, let’s go.”

“NO Eponine,” he replied. He leaned against a podium. Combeferre’s mother approached warily.

“Enjolras, honey, maybe you should go with Eponine,” she started to say. Enjolras’ bitter laugh cut her off. 

“No, no, no, you know where I should have gone? You know where? I should have gone on that goddamn roller coaster with the rest of these fuckers!” 

Eponine gasped. She wasn’t the only one.

“Grantaire! Get your ass up here so everyone can see us! The lucky survivors! How fucking lucky we are!”

Marius and Cosette stood with Grantaire on the far side of the room. It was impossible to tell who was the most shocked. They had spent the better part of the last three years together and none of them had ever seen Enjolras behave like this. He was the picture of decorum and class, except maybe when he was getting in trouble for starting a protest or something like that. 

Something in Grantaire snapped. He was usually good-natured, if sarcastic, even with the ever-present alcohol in his system. He was witty and sharp. He and Enjolras had admittedly had a strange relationship over the past few years, slowly becoming friends despite bickering like an old married couple. Grantaire couldn’t resist stirring the coals when Enjolras became too fired up about something, but this always worked for them. 

For the first time, Grantaire felt that Enjolras had gone too far. He stalked to the podium, where Enjolras was continuing to babble the most horrible word vomit. Grantaire cursed at himself for leaving Enjolras alone with the bottle of moonshine. He briefly wondered what state he would find his apartment in. These and a million other thoughts crossed his mind in the few seconds it took him to reach his drunk friend. 

With no hesitation, Grantaire drew a fist back and connected it with Enjolras’ face. The blonde crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold. 


	4. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras deals with the aftermath of his actions at the viewing and chooses a new way to cope.

Enjolras woke up several hours later in the familiar comfort of his own bed. He could tell that he had a hell of a hangover. It was dark out, and the harsh red glare from his alarm clock announced that it was nearly midnight. He squirmed, feeling extra uncomfortable in his dress shirt and pants, and vaguely wondered what the fuck had happened to him.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he heard, and he sat up way too quickly for his hangover.

“Eponine?” He screwed his eyes shut in an effort to stop the room from spinning around him, and he had no idea where she was until he felt her weight at the foot of his bed. He clenched his clammy hands in the sheets that were twisted around him.

“About time you came back to the land of the living,” she muttered as she surveyed him. Grantaire had given him a remarkable black eye when he’d tagged the drunk Enjolras, and shame did not suit the handsome man’s face. “God, you look awful. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Enjolras looked infinitely more uncomfortable than she, or anyone else for that matter, had ever seen him. He pulled his knees up and rested his head on them, overwhelmed with the heavy weight of dread a person experiences when they feel guilty and don’t know exactly why. “Eponine, I can’t lie to you, so please don’t lie to me.” She arched an eyebrow, urging him to continue. 

“The last thing I remember is drinking in Grantaire’s apartment. Or maybe calling a taxi to take me to…the funeral home?”

The color drained from Eponine’s face. “That’s all?”

“I think Grantaire picked a fight with me,” he alleged.

“You’re a real fucking piece of work, you know that?” she sighed. The girl stood and retrieved some aspirin and water for him. As she related the entirety of the events of the day to Enjolras, he visibly transformed back into something terrible. His eyes clouded again with the same shadow that possessed them since the accident.  
Eponine shifted uncomfortably, scooting a little further away from him. “Please, snap out of this. I’m begging you, not for my sake or yours but for Grantaire’s,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. Enjolras looked positively manic.

“For him?”

Eponine steeled herself. “You need each other.”

“How do you figure?” He looked up at Eponine with genuine defeat on his face.

“Don’t you believe that tragedy bonds people?”

“They were your friends too, and Marius and Cos-”Enjolras started, but he was cut off.

“I didn’t see their blood on the ground, Enjolras,” she winced. “I didn’t hear the screech of steel on steel or the screams or ambulance sirens or anything else you had to go through that night!” she shrieked. “Nobody on this planet knows what you’re going through, save for each other.”

Eponine stood and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her before she said something she would regret. For a few minutes, Enjolras contemplated this phenomenon. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what he believed.

Enjolras wanted to go puke. He wanted to find his phone and call Grantaire. Hell, he wanted to search the building until he found his friend. He wanted to get out of the uncomfortable clothes. Despite all of these desires, Enjolras was stuck in place by a much, much stronger feeling. Or maybe it was numbness, he had never quite been sure.

His depression was an anchor that tethered him to the floor of an ocean no matter how far above the waves he rose. No matter how accomplished, or intelligent, or anything else he was, he always felt the chain digging into his ankle and nothing he did could loosen it. Worst of all, he never told a soul. He lied to his doctor about having chronic migraine headaches because he knew an antidepressant/painkiller combination was the typical prescription.

Instead of doing any of the things he wanted to do, he simply opened the drawer of the nightstand beside his bed. He cast his hand around the contents of the drawer until he found what he was seeking. A prescription bottle.

Enjolras’s head absolutely pounded. He popped the two pills in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He couldn’t even move to get more water. The glass Eponine brought him was long gone.

The next morning, Enjolras woke up groggily. Grantaire replaced Eponine at some point in the night. Enjolras rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and gave a small yelp when he saw the man perched in his desk chair. Grantaire smirked at the sound.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. Enjolras blinked at him. Without a word, he reached for the medicine at his bedside, not caring that he was only supposed to take it once a day. His head freaking hurt.

“Why are you here?” Enjolras asked. He couldn’t think of anything more eloquent to say.

Grantaire paused. “I don’t know how to put this any nicer, but clearly, you need a babysitter.” The irony of this statement was not lost on Enjolras as Grantaire took a swig from a can of beer. He was sitting in Enjolras’ desk chair, his feet propped up on what Enjolras noticed was a small red cooler.

"No, I don’t,” Enjolras countered. He sat up, feeling a little better than he had last time he woke.

Grantaire blinked incredulously. “Obviously, someone needs to keep you from making an even bigger ass of yourself than you have already managed.”

Enjolras didn’t take kindly to what he saw as an insult. “You do realize,” he snarled, “that I acted yesterday the way you act every damn day of your life?”

Grantaire blushed furiously and ignored the dig. “Eponine invited us to this new bar, the Corinth. They’re having a karaoke night tonight. “

Enjolras felt a wave of fear wash over him as he considered the possibility of having to leave his apartment, his room, his bed. He scratched at his ankle where he felt the weight of his anchor. “I have to study for my finals,” he pretended. The school had graciously allowed him and Grantaire to take their finals a few weeks later than planned.

“Bullshit,” Grantaire said. “We can take those basically whenever we damn well want. Seriously, we get to play the all-my-friends-are-dead card.” For the briefest of moments Enjolras actually considered telling Grantaire the truth about the prison in which his mind held him hostage. But his eyes met Grantaire’s, and Enjolras’ resolve vanished. Grantaire, he thought was looking at him with a peculiar expression that Enjolras couldn’t put his finger on. Not quite respect, maybe veneration.

“Fine.”

Grantaire rose from the chair and picked up his cooler. “I’ll be in the living room. I think you have a lot of apologies to make.” He threw Enjolras’ phone to him. Enjolras missed the catch, and the phone bounced on his bed. “I’m the expert, remember?” Grantaire added bitterly.

Enjolras watched his friend leave the room, cracking a beer as he shut the door behind him.

After he made his phone calls, the most painful one to Combeferre’s mother, he took another dose of his medicine. He couldn’t shake this pain.

Later, Grantaire and Eponine practically dragged him to the bar, which wasn’t far from their building. “Come on, Marius and Cosette have a table for us,” Eponine pleaded as she prodded Enjolras in the back. “And I promise they don’t hate you, we’re all just worried.”

The night unfolded as you would expect a karaoke night would, the highlight being the color red Marius turned when Cosette sang a particularly raunchy number to him after her fourth vodka cranberry. None of them really cared for Eponine’s new boyfriend, a guy a year older than them, named Montparnasse but he joined them after a while anyway. He was kind of shady for their standards.

Enjolras was just leaving the bathroom when Montparnasse walked in. They exchanged a brief nod, and Montparnasse commented, “You look like shit.”

“So I’ve been told,” Enjolras haughtily said. The dingy light in the bathroom made his black eye look particularly severe. They stood at the threshold of the doorway.

Montparnasse opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. He quickly withdrew a plastic baggie from the pocket of his jeans. “Here, man, you look like you could use this.” He held the baggie up, and Enjolras saw a couple dozen white pills with little blue specks on them. His eyes widened. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Montparnasse encouraged.

“I don’t do drugs,” Enjolras hurriedly said.

“Think of it as…self-medication,” Eponine’s boyfriend shrugged. “This is a scrip for phentermine I bummed from some chick. It’s an upper. Just for a little bit til this shit gets easier to handle.”

Enjolras was torn. Self-medication was basically what he did anyway and he was absolutely terrified to lose the fight with his depression like he had in high school. He never wanted to feel the way he used to again, and he knew he was walking the dangerous line. He felt like at any second he could snap, and succumb to the weight of the anchor. So, he took the baggie with a slightly trembling hand.

“What do you want for it?”

“Just have that. You need it more than I do, that’s for damn sure.” Montparnasse said.

“Thanks.” The exchange was over and Enjolras returned to the table. Marius had just ordered a round of tequila shots. Enjolras sat down, feeling the strange weight of the pills in his pocket. He tried his best to smile with the others and picked up the shot glass in one hand and the lime wedge in the other.


	5. The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire comforts Enjolras, but thinks take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this!! I’m so appreciative of every review and everything. I’m no med student so I’m hoping nothing in here is ridiculous. I just feel like I should warn everyone that there is a possible trigger warning for depression, especially cutting, in this chapter.

Enjolras sat on his couch, attempting to study for his finals. Luckily, he only had three. It was a Saturday, and he had agreed to sit for two of his exams on Monday and the third on Tuesday. 

He hadn’t seen his friends in a few days, wrapped up in not failing his next-to-last year of school. He absentmindedly sipped a beer, one from the case that Grantaire habitually left in his apartment since the accident, while he went over his set of notecards for his public policy course. 

If Enjolras had bothered to look into exactly what it was that Montparnasse had given him, he would have realized that taking this synthetic amphetamine with his “migraine” cocktail was, in fact, a pretty bad idea. The blonde also would have known that consuming alcohol was prohibited when these medicines were prescribed. 

But, earlier that afternoon, he finally caved in to the temptation of the magic little pills. After he had gotten home from the bar, he’d hidden the baggie of medicine in a desk drawer, saying he would keep it there for an emergency…or something. All week, he had caused quite a dent in his stash of migraine medicine, which worried him. His depression was slowly creeping into his system, and he swore he could feel the venom coursing through his veins. It was clear that his meds wouldn’t stave his darkness off forever, and before he had time to change his mind, he all but ran into his bedroom and took one of the new pills.

Since then, he had been sitting there on his couch in silence, trying to memorize a semester’s worth of public policy theory. He attributed his rapid heartbeat to his nerves, and ignored the way the world spun just a little under his feet all the time. He thought that he didn’t really remember what normal felt like, so who was he to question anything that made him forget his pain?

A few hours later, Grantaire knocked on his door. Enjolras rose and stretched, adjusting his jeans and polo. He walked over to the door and opened it. 

“You know, the purpose of having a cell phone is so that people can use it to contact you,” Grantaire said as he pushed past the blonde into the apartment. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “Sorry, I haven’t had it all day.” Truthfully, he hadn’t. He wasn’t even sure where his phone was. Grantaire pulled out his own phone after sitting a plastic bag of something on the kitchen table. He called Enjolras’ phone, waiting for the telltale ring. It was ringing from Enjolras’ room, and before the blonde could stop him, Grantaire dashed into his room to retrieve the phone. 

The standard ringtone blasted from the chair of Enjolras’ desk. Enjolras paled as he realized what Grantaire would see when he retrieved the phone. He ran into the room and pushed the brunette out of the way, snatching his phone from the desk. 

“Touchy,” Grantaire snickered. His eyes briefly lingered over the baggie of pills on the desktop, but he didn’t say anything. He, and really everyone else in their group of friends, knew well the kind of problems Enjolras had with his headaches and he didn’t want to further agitate his slightly unstable friend.

“Shit. I really am sorry,” Enjolras apologized. He settled back into his post on the couch, surrounded by pens, highlighters and books. His laptop lay forgotten on the coffee table amidst the stacks of notecards arranged in little piles everywhere. He was scrolling intently through the phone, noting that Grantaire had called him four times and Marius had called twice earlier in the day. He had his usual round of text messages from everyone he knew, politely trying to ask if he was ok, which was exactly why he had been neglecting his phone. 

“I just needed some help studying for my intro political science class,” Grantaire explained. He walked over to the bag he had set on the kitchen table, and pulled a box of wine (yes, a box) from it. Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow as Grantaire moved to fill two of his stemless wine glasses. If there was one thing Grantaire liked about this new shithead Enjolras was that he never complained about Grantaire’s drinking anymore and joined him more often than not. 

Enjolras snorted. He could teach that class better than the professor could. “Why exactly did you take that, again?” He took a look over the study guide Grantaire had prepared for himself. 

“Well, I never really cared to keep up with all of the shit you and the guys used to talk about,” he explained. “But I figured since I had to take a social science elective it might as well be one I could find some use out of.” 

Enjolras was slightly touched. He grinned; glad he was able to get through to someone. “Well, I guess I’ll help you when you put it like that. Besides, you’d better get interested so you can be on my side when Marius starts on that conservative crap I can’t get out of his head.” 

“I’d be on your side anyway, haven’t you noticed?” Grantaire said before he could stop himself. He turned about the color of the dark pink wine he had started drinking. 

Enjolras looked up from the study guide, unsure of what to say. So he also picked up his glass and drank. They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments, before he remembered to speak. 

“So, do you just want me to ask you these questions?” Grantaire nodded. 

The two passed the next few hours in this fashion, pausing only to order a pizza. They continued to drain their ever-so-classy box of wine, asking each other questions back and forth. By eleven that night, they were sufficiently drunk. Grantaire had been adding something from a flask in with his wine, and Enjolras pretended not to notice in the same way Grantaire had pretended not to notice when Enjolras disappeared to his room for a moment and came back coughing as he dry swallowed a pill. 

They had since moved to the floor, leaning against the couch. Studying had become impossible several glasses of wine ago, and the pair had instead taken to browsing Netflix on the TV, settling on some super hero action movie. 

They were also drunk, but not past the point of being incoherent. “Hey, can I ask you something?” Enjolras quietly interrupted. Grantaire looked to him. 

“Of course.”

“How are you putting up with everything so well? Everyone is treating me like I’m made of glass and you’re acting like nothing ever happened.” 

Grantaire had been expecting this conversation. “Well,” he paused, sipping from his glass again. “I wish I could tell you. I haven’t cried since that night. I even make Eponine take me to see Courfeyrac, thinking that would make me feel something.”

Enjolras’ eyes widened. “Do you think you could take me to see him?”

“Well, hold on, that’s the thing. It didn’t make me feel anything. Like I was expecting him to wake up and move back home any second, like it was a sick joke. I don’t know why, but I can’t make this real. I can’t feel it.” He paused and took a few deep breaths. 

“I’m jealous,” Enjolras slurred as he downed his glass. His inhibition tugged at the anchor, and he felt himself slipping under the water. He couldn’t breathe right; he might have been drowning. 

“Jealous?” Grantaire stammered. “I thought you blamed me for not being dead. If you don’t want to feel anything, being dead is probably the best way to do it. I feel like a fucking zombie, Enjolras. At least you still have feelings.” He swore under his breath as he felt tears well up in his eyes. 

Enjolras paused, considering this. “Grantaire, I think there was a before…and an after. Before and after the accident, I mean. I’m starting to think that no matter how hard we try,” he ran a finger around the rim of his empty glass, “we aren’t really going to be able to make things how they were before. And I don’t mean just since we can’t bring them back.”

“Eponine says we’re going to be fucked up forever,” Grantaire said. 

“She’s right,” Enjolras conceded. “I just don’t know how to get past this. I can’t cope with it.” He thought of the baggie of pills he accepted from Montparnasse, something the old Enjolras never could have done. 

Neither of them knew what to say. After a few minutes, filled with only the sound of whatever was happening on TV, Enjolras stood and took their glasses to fill them up again. He stopped in his room for another pill. Grantaire, troubled by the moment by his own sorrows, didn’t even realize. He anticipated the next glass of wine slipping over his tongue, actually tasting it and feeling the slight burn in his throat. He might not be able to feel the same pain Enjolras felt, but he could sure as hell feel the burning comfort alcohol brought him. 

At some point while drinking the next glass of wine and whatever the hell he was mixing it with, Grantaire actually fell asleep. It was pretty late, and his nerves were shot. Enjolras threw a blanket over his friend, and started another movie. He finished his glass of wine, and then another. His brain was racing, and his hands and feet wouldn’t stop tingling. He really couldn’t feel his fingers, or his tongue, or his teeth, for that matter. All he could feel was an overwhelming feeling. Sadness wasn’t enough to describe it. It kept him glued in place. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. 

Eventually, he realized his glass was empty. He was past drunk now, in the state where those who are drinking continue to guzzle alcohol like it is water. He stood with his glass, intending to fill it. There wasn’t any wine- he slapped the bag by himself at this point- but he assumed there was something else in his fridge from Grantaire, maybe some of his beer. 

As he crossed from the carpet of his living room to the linoleum of his kitchen, Enjolras tripped a little, his socks sliding on the slick floor. The wine glass had no stem, and was a little damp where he was holding it. It fell to the floor from his fingers and shattered into probably hundreds of pieces. 

Enjolras whipped his head to see if he had woken Grantaire. He hadn’t. He sighed with relief as he crouched down. In his drunken state, he just picked up the shards of glass that he could with his fingers, putting them into a pile on a paper plate. When he picked up everything he saw, he sat, leaning against his kitchen cabinets. He knotted his fingers in his hair. 

The darkness was taking him. He had tried so hard today to keep it away, first with medicine then with drink and even with Grantaire’s company. He started to cry. What else could he try? A horrible voice from the back of his mind spoke. It was one he hadn’t heard since he was 16 years old.

His blue eyes turned to the pile of glass. There was a nice, big curved piece, probably from the side of the glass. He stretched and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. It left little red marks where it touched his fingers. He smiled. 

Enjolras lightly touched the pale skin of his left forearm with the glass. He dragged it back and forth horizontally, going deeper with each pass until he broke his skin. He smiled wildly at the slight glisten of blood. His depression laughed hysterically at him. It egged him on, congratulated him, told him to do it better. He obliged. 

He laughed, speaking to himself. “It’s down the road, not across the street, right?” He couldn’t even remember where he heard that stupid phrase. Maybe middle school health class? It didn’t matter. He put the sharp edge of the glass at the crook of his elbow and dragged it, deep, down to his wrist. The skin opened up beautifully, separating like the blooming petals of flowers, he thought. 


	6. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things always get worse before they get better, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews! Please just don’t kill me for this chapter. Also I apologize for all of the typos and things I’ve noticed from previous chapters; I usually write really late at night and some things slipped by me! I plan to fix them soon since I’ll be done with this fic this weekend most likely.

Enjolras fell asleep in a little pool of his own red blood, the shard of glass he used to maim himself held loosely in his fingers. He was curled up on his side. Grantaire woke with a start when the movie’s credits ended, the silence penetrating the room loud enough to rouse him. His head swam. He noticed Enjolras wasn’t beside him and assumed he was in bed.

“Maybe I’ll swipe a migraine med for this,” he muttered under his breath as he stood, swaying a little bit. He crept as quietly as he could manage into Enjolras’ room, feeling his way to the desk by the tiny amount of light let in through the space in the window between the windowsill and the curtain. As he got closer to the bed, he could tell Enjolras wasn’t in it. Frowning, he groped for the desk lamp and switched it on. He picked up the baggie he saw earlier, and he squinted at the pills. He didn’t recognize them as any painkiller he’d ever taken before.

Then, it sunk in that Enjolras wasn’t in bed. Grantaire shook his head and walked back into the living room, starting to panic when he saw his friend wasn’t on the couch or a chair or even the floor. He caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and he looked somewhere he had thus far neglected. “Passing out drunk in the kitchen, Enjolras?” he softly chided. “You’re becoming more like me by the day.”

Nothing could have prepared Grantaire for the sight that greeted him as he neared Enjolras’ sleeping form. The man he admired lay as if he were a broken china doll. His limbs were bent unnaturally, his skin pale instead of glowing. His left arm was cut in a sloppy line from elbow to wrist. “What the fucking goddamn fuck,” Grantaire choked out. He dropped to his knees at Enjolras’ side, and gently shook him. “Please wake up, please,” he begged.

Enjolras, so slowly that Grantaire thought perhaps time had actually slowed down, woke up gradually. First his lips parted and he gulped in air, then his eyes fluttered open. His dark blue eyes met Grantaire’s light blue ones, which had become absolutely wild with panic. Grantaire put an arm behind him and hoisted him up, dragging him into a sitting position against the closest cabinet.

Enjolras looked down at his arm, making no indication of alarm. “Enj, what the fuck happened? Did you fall or something? We should get you to a hospital.” At the word “hospital” he finally seemed to snap back to life.

“No,” he said.

“No to what,” Grantaire practically screamed at him. The wound was no longer bleeding freely, but Enjolras clearly needed some medical attention.

“To everything.” His face went blank again.

Grantaire could have shaken him. “Enjolras. Fucking answer me.”

“No, this wasn’t an accident. No, I’m not going to a hospital.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Good thing I’m not asking you to.”

Grantaire felt as though Enjolras had slapped him. “I’m trying to help you!”

“I don’t want your help.”

Grantaire stood and kicked a chair, ignoring as it crashed to the ground and skidded into a wall. Enjolras still hadn’t moved. Grantaire, who was still slightly drunk, whipped out his phone. “I said no hospital.” Grantaire shushed him and started speaking in a low, hurried voice to someone on the other line.

When the call was done, he returned and crouched by Enjolras. “No hospital,” he confirmed. “But Eponine is on her way and I don’t think she’s had a great day either by the sound of it. I think she was crying. So you’re going to explain to me what the hell this is while I clean you up before she gets here.” 

Enjolras didn’t respond. Grantaire sighed and walked to the bathroom, and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. He sat back down by Enjolras, who was still as a statue. He wiped up the blood from the floor, blanching as he did so, and threw the rags out. “Get your shirt off, it’s covered in blood,” he requested. Enjolras didn’t move, just pressed his lips together tighter. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Grantaire said before grabbing the hem of the gray polo and yanking it over Enjolras’ head along with his undershirt. 

Seeing the blonde without his shirt on wasn’t anything new to Grantaire since they played intramurals but God, he looked good. Even in this pitiful state. Especially in this pitiful state, begging for someone to save him, even if he wouldn’t admit it, Grantaire thought. He just shook his head and wet a cotton ball with peroxide, and gingerly picked up Enjolras’ arm. “I wish I knew what was wrong with you,” he whispered as he wiped off the dried blood.

“I wish I did too,” Enjolras replied for the first time in a while. 

Grantaire didn’t answer, just cautiously dabbed at the wound. He wanted to be sick, thinking that his friend had done this to himself, and kept anxiously glancing at the door for Eponine. When he had the blood cleaned up, he gently applied Neosporin. He wasn’t sure if it was the best thing to do to wrap the arm with gauze secured with medical tape, but he really didn’t want to look at the gash anymore.

Enjolras, meanwhile, was completely overcome with the depression that haunted him. The new medicine hadn’t done anything except maybe make him even crazier, he thought. He now felt like there was an anchor attached to every limb, dragging him deeper and deeper by the second. He wanted badly to cry, to thank Grantaire, even to hug him with appreciation, but his limbs wouldn’t move.

Eponine finally burst through the door just as Grantaire started to clean up the things he’d used.

“Grantaire…” Eponine trailed off. She ran to him and all but collapsed in his arms. She was wearing the same jeans and olive green t-shirt that Grantaire had seen her in a day ago. The bottoms of her jeans and her once-white Converse were splattered with mud from running to the apartment. She immediately fell apart, sobbing against Grantaire’s shoulder, soaking the sleeve of his black v-neck. 

She whispered, “Courfeyrac didn’t make it.” This was all she could get out. Grantaire’s world spun. He finally snapped, became undone. He had been trying so, so hard to feel something and now he felt every emotion all at once. He was angry, scared, confused, exhausted, heartbroken, maybe just plain broken like Enjolras. He didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard a new sob from the corner. 

Enjolras was on the floor again, nearly in the position where Grantaire had found him. Grantaire released Eponine and dragged Enjolras up and over to the couch. The three friends collapsed together on the couch, and it wasn’t long before Cosette and Marius found them. The five students sat for hours in silence, holding each other as if their friendship was all they had left in the world.


	7. The Funhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Thanks to all those who have kept reading thus far! Accept this chapter as an apology for the horrible things I have put these characters through up until this point :)

After that awful night, which Enjolras had mentally been calling The Incident since The Accident was already taken, some dynamic had changed. He could tell that, yet again, he had hit another before-and-after point. Cosette gently convinced him to go to the hospital after they recovered from the shock of everything that had happened that day.

Enjolras groaned as a nurse told him he would have to spend a few days in the hospital as the dangerous amount of drugs he had taken waned from his system, and his arm was monitored for infection. “You’re going to need to leave unless you’re family,” she said kindly to Grantaire, who had volunteered to bring and stay with Enjolras.

The blonde’s face paled, and everything in his expression gave away the fact that he didn’t want to be alone. He hadn’t told his parents, and he wasn’t on their insurance, so they wouldn’t be finding out until he told them. Grantaire, without missing a beat, replied to the nurse, “I’m his boyfriend, can that count?”

“Oh…yes,” she said, a little surprised, before she left the room.

Grantaire could hardly keep it together, bursting into a fit of laughter as soon as he figured she was far enough away that she couldn’t hear him.

Enjolras couldn’t move from the bed, where an IV was connected to his good arm. “I can’t believe you just did that,” he laughed. 

Grantaire pulled up a chair, smirking. “Don’t ever say I never did anything for you.”

The smile faded from Enjolras’ handsome face. “Seriously, you’ve done everything for me. I’m always going to owe you.”

“I was just trying to be a good friend,” Grantaire said simply. 

Enjolras bit his lip. Another before-and-after moment. “I have been living with near debilitating depression,” he confessed. “I’ve never told anyone except when that doctor kicked you out of the room to question me earlier. And now you.” 

“Fuck,” Grantaire exhaled. “I had no idea.” 

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?” 

“I guess try to get better,” Enjolras said. “I don’t really know how it works but I have to try.”

“I’ll help you,” Grantaire said. Enjolras could tell that every fiber of his being meant it. He smiled. He had dreaded telling Grantaire his secret that had embarrassed him and weakened him for as long as he could remember. But, for the first time, he didn’t feel the anchor tugging at his ankle. It was there, of course, but he couldn’t feel it. Like maybe Grantaire was supporting the chain a little bit. 

\----

A few weeks later, exams were behind them, and life was getting easier. The friends were in the process of moving from their old apartment building, which was full to bursting with memories that were still too painful, into a smaller house. The house was a modest but quaint split level within walking distance of campus that Cosette vowed she would make into a real home. Downstairs was one of the bathrooms and the basement Grantaire claimed for his bedroom, and upstairs were the three small bedrooms, living room, kitchen and another bathroom. Space was tight, but it was theirs. 

Cosette, Marius, Grantaire, Enjolras and Eponine sat in folding lawn chairs on the back porch, plus Montparnasse. He had surprised them all by being awfully good for Eponine, stopping her from quitting her waitressing job and even buying her a little kitten. At the present moment, Montparnasse was sitting on a chair, smoking, and Eponine was leaning against his legs, her kitten sleeping on her lap. 

“Blow your smoke over that way, I don’t want you to make the kitten sick!” she said softly. It was twilight, and they were all exhausted from a long day of moving furniture and boxes. Everyone agreed to stay on for their last year of school, and promised to keep each other strong. 

Enjolras felt a little proud as he looked around the porch. They were all broken, but they were healing. There was only one thing that his therapist asked him to do that he hadn’t done yet. 

You know, my shrink wants me to go back to the park,” Enjolras said, breaking a few moments of silence. Everyone turned to him warily. 

“Did she say why?” Marius asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “I didn’t ask.” An uncomfortable feeling rippled through the group, as it did whenever The Accident or The Incident came up. 

Grantaire tilted his head back and finished his beer. He tossed the can to the recycling bin that Enjolras insisted on and spoke. “Let’s go right now.”

Enjolras considered this proposition. Somehow, he felt braver than he ever had, even more than when he was leading a student walk-out or a rally outside some politician’s office. “Okay,” he agreed, to everyone’s shock. 

“I mean, we don’t have to,” Grantaire said quickly. “I was kidding a little.”

“I’m not kidding. I’ll go,” Enjolras said, and stood to go. Grantaire followed him into the apartment before anyone could say anything. 

Eponine stroked the little white kitten, who she named Marie. “I think I’m about to become the fifth wheel of this house,” she mused. Montparnasse hugged her tight from behind. 

Marius, definitely the most naïve of the group, looked shocked. “Why would you say that?” he questioned.

“Oh honey,” Cosette sighed. “You know I love you, but sometimes you’re really blind.” 

“Maybe I’m just too busy looking at you to notice anyone else,” he grinned sheepishly. 

“Nice save,” Montparnasse laughed. 

Eponine smiled too, and thought to herself how nice this was. It was amazing, really, considering what they had been through together. Nobody blamed her boyfriend for what happened to Enjolras. None of them blamed each other for anything. Eponine started talking without realizing she was doing so, which she was prone to doing when her mind wandered and she was a little tipsy. Her favorite thing to quote was little snippets of poems and quotes and songs that she loved. “If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life.”

\----

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Enjolras said as he settled into the passenger seat of Grantaire’s car. They were both a little buzzed, and he smiled at the thought of going to an amusement park in any state other than sober. Yes, Grantaire definitely liked this free-spirited Enjolras (when he wasn’t being a shithead, which he still was sometimes). 

“Buckle up,” Grantaire reminded as he pulled out of the driveway. The drive didn’t take very long, and they got into the park quickly since it was only an hour from closing. They ran through the tunnel that led to the park, and Grantaire followed Enjolras’ path, as was his custom. Panting, Enjolras came to a stop in front of the photo booth. The ride was still closed, maybe for good, but it was the photo booth that captivated him. 

“This is where we were,” he said softly. Grantaire closed his eyes and nodded. The pair stood in silence for a few minutes. 

“You all right?” Grantaire asked. 

“Yeah, actually,” Enjolras said. He had been scared that the depression would smother him again as it had the night of The Accident. “Take me through Noah’s Ark.” He gestured in the direction of the funhouse. 

Grantaire tensed. “I thought you hated it.”

“My cousin scared me so bad in there once when I was little that I actually pissed my pants,” he confessed. “And somehow that’s still not the worst thing I’ve shared with you.”

Grantaire laughed, “That’s why you wouldn’t go before?”

“Yeah, yeah, get your jokes out now.”

“It’s sort of...endearing,” Grantaire decided. 

“Whatever,” Enjolras shrugged. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The usual long line was nonexistent when they arrived at the base of the funhouse. It was a huge building, shaped to look like an actual wooden boat. “Guess it’s our lucky day,” Grantaire remarked. Enjolras paused, looking just a little nervous. “Come on,” Grantaire urged, grabbing the other man’s hand and pulling him through the door into the elevator shaft. 

“This might be even worse alone,” Enjolras gulped as the doors of the elevator shut and they “crashed” in a frenzy of lights and bad special effects. He still clutched Grantaire’s hand as the doors opened and they walked through a dark, dimly lit, and definitely dirty hallway. Animal noises played over hidden speakers, and Enjolras jumped as the floor beneath them appeared to give way. 

“It’s called plexiglass,” Grantaire snorted. The clear floor gave them a view of skeletons, coffins, and other equally gross old props underneath. He guided Enjolras through the room, which opened up into a pathway that snaked back outside the Ark. 

The next passageway was too narrow for them to fit side by side, and he reluctantly dropped Grantaire’s hand. They crept through a hallway with mesh nets for walls, and up an even narrower set of stairs. Enjolras jumped as a fake cobra sprayed some water in his direction, and Grantaire laughed again. “I’m glad you’re at least enjoying this,” Enjolras snarled. 

“So where exactly did you piss yourself?” Grantaire quipped. 

“You’ll never know,” Enjolras responded. “Hurry up.” He put his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders, urging him to continue past a rather intimidating monkey display and down some stairs lit with strobe lights. 

They entered a room that looked like the inside of a barrel, with the walls spinning around a walkway through the middle. It was rather disorienting, and Grantaire laughed as Enjolras stumbled into his back. He tried to walk ahead, which was hard with Enjolras gripping onto his back for dear life. He tried to turn around to calm him down, or maybe tease him (he hadn’t decided which yet) and as soon as he was facing Enjolras, the blonde stumbled forward, knocking their foreheads together. 

“Smooth,” Grantaire said, gripping onto the railing. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras said quietly. Their faces were still inches apart. He could smell the faint scent of Grantaire’s cigarettes on his breath, and he noted that he didn’t like the smell of the Rolling Rock pale ale that his breath probably smelled like too. 

Enjolras pressed his lips to Grantaire’s. Stunned, the brunette kissed him back. It had been a long time since either of them had been in a relationship at all, and Grantaire realized he’d never kissed a guy before. He didn’t care though, and obviously neither did Enjolras. It just felt…right. 

Grantaire pulled away first, breathless. Without speaking, Enjolras took the lead for the first time since they entered the funhouse. He dragged Grantaire to the nearest emergency exit and the whole way back to Grantaire’s car. 

It didn’t take very long for the windows to steam up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I’m not sure if I want this to be the end or not. This was the ending I wanted and I’m happy with how it wrapped up, but I can’t figure out where I want to take the story next. Thanks for all the support!


End file.
